The Beast Without
by Mardy Lass
Summary: Pre'Utopia'. Ten and Martha get stuck between a dragon and a hard Queen. It's not hard for the Doctor to make his choice, nor spring into action, but who will Martha believe? Rated T for some situations.
1. Chapter 1

**ONE**

"And _then_ what did he say?" she giggled.

"He said he'd obviously drunk more than he thought he had – although I think he'd been smoking a little too – and we agreed not to tell anyone about me having two hearts," the Doctor said as they walked along the grass verge.

"And then?" she asked knowingly. The Doctor turned innocent.

"_Well_," he said, rubbing the back of his head uneasily, "we might have had a little chat about parallel universes and how, sometimes, everything you thought you wanted is trapped on the other side."

"_Thought_ you wanted?" she prompted, lost.

He didn't look at her. Instead he let his hand drop, sucking in a breath through his nose.

"And then he sneaked off and wrote another album – _and_ had the ginger to write one called '_Quantum Theory_', about parallel dimensions," he tutted. "Honestly, you'd think a lyrical genius like Jarvis Cocker would have come up with something a little more original."

"Doctor," she grinned, "do you meet everyone famous?"

"Nah, they meet me," he said cheekily, looking back at the road.

It was a wide dirt track with old, deep ruts grooved in nicely from a thousand different carts having been drawn over it. She watched her feet as they walked along.

"Nice, this," she said amiably.

"What is?" he asked, looking down at her on his arm.

"Well… It's so peaceful. And… quiet. Like proper country life," she said pleasantly.

"Well it _is_ somewhere around 1093," he offered. "It should be free of internets and mobile phones and digital watches," he added with a teasing smile.

"You know what I mean. After being stuck in 1969 and then that internet virus thing, and the spaceship scandal of Rergari Nine, it's nice. No wars on terror, no VAT, no pirate DVDs," she said.

A dark cloud loomed against the sun and she shielded her eyes from it to look up into the bright sky.

"Oh, I don't know," he said mildly, "we might get to the town to find them selling knock-off sun-dials," he finished cheekily.

The pall over the sun suddenly flicked into full-on typhoon tinted darkness, and he stopped her to look up too.

"That's strange," he said to himself.

The darkness against the sun grew larger and he suddenly realised it wasn't a cloud but a silhouette.

"Duck!" he shouted. He grabbed her with both hands and dragged her down to the dirt track with him.

Martha rolled onto her back and looked up.

A great channel of wind and dirt rushed over her, her vision blocked by flying leaves, twigs and plain earth from the road. She was forced to shut her eyes and cover her head as the barrage of wind and shrapnel flew over her head.

She felt it whip past her at impossible speeds, snatching at her hair, whipping it over her head.

It stopped abruptly and she quickly let her arms drop from over her face. She took a deep breath, grateful of clean air unsullied by road dust, and sat up. She found the Doctor already on his feet, staring up and apparently laughing at thin air.

"What _was_ that?" she demanded, getting to her knees and then her feet. He was still laughing like a small schoolboy, delighted beyond his years. "Oi!" she said, putting a hand out and yanking on the sleeve of his long brown coat.

"Mag_nif_icent!" he crowed, a huge, daffy grin on his face. "Have you ever seen anything _like_ it?"

She relaxed and looked up. Her eyes caught the shape beating huge wings away from them and her smile vanished.

"Doctor…"

"Dragon! A dragon! I haven't seen one of those – well, an Earth one – in _years_!" he crowed, beside himself with simple joy. She swallowed.

"Mate, what are dragons doing on Earth in 1093?" she asked slowly.

"Flying?" he hazarded, looking back at her. She tutted. "Oh come on – Saint George needed something to kill, didn't he?" he asked of her disbelieving face. "Maybe he missed one. Ooh, Saint George," he mused suddenly, flicking his gaze over her head and clearly forgetting she was there. "Never met him. Wouldn't mind, though."

"Dragons weren't real!" she interrupted. "They were just… stories!"

"Ah," he said knowingly, pulling on his ear as he turned back to look back into the sky, searching for the shape. It was gone. "So that near-miss was just a story too, then."

"Doctor!" she protested, hurrying to catch up as he carried on down the cart track.

"What was it then, Miss Jones? A large bird? A barn with wings? Mind you, I _have_ actually seen a barn with –"

"Doctor, is this really Earth?" she asked suddenly.

"Seems that way," he said cheerfully. "Why do you ask?"

She yanked on his arm and he stopped to look at her.

"No reason," she said quietly, from the corner of her mouth. She was staring past him, and he turned and looked, following her line of sight.

"Greetings!" shouted a rather tall, heavily-armoured woman.

She was standing in the middle of the road ahead, a large, heavy cross-bow in her hands and covered from head to toe in varying thicknesses of chain mail. Her long, red hair was tied into a single pony-tail behind her left ear, letting it cascade over the dented, used metal over her shoulder.

"Of course it's Earth," the Doctor hissed at her. "Where else could we be?"

"Up the Amazon?" she hissed back sarcastically, eyeing the tall, rather over-bearing female in their path.

"Pray introduce yourself!" she called sternly.

"Oh, er, sorry," the Doctor said, a broad, friendly smile on his features. "Just a bit lost, I think. I'm Sir Doctor of TAR-"

"Be quiet, slave!" she interrupted angrily. "How dare you speak to me!"

The Doctor slapped his mouth shut in surprise, his teeth clicking together audibly. "Um..?" he managed, then looked down at Martha. She caught his gaze and squared her shoulders.

"I'm Martha Jones. This is my travelling companion," she said boldly.

"The Lady Martha," she said respectfully, inclining her head slightly, and Martha let out a breath. "You have come a long way, and we are pleased to receive visitors from such an exotic land," the woman added pleasantly. "Do you wish entrance to the city?"

"Er – yes please," she said quickly. "Could you please tell me, what city does this road lead to?" she asked.

"Why, the greatest city of the Creeyanon nation: Cyleen!" she replied with a proud straightening of shoulders. "It would be my honour to escort you there and arrange for you to meet with the councillors, Lady Martha."

"Oooh! Creeyanon! Heard of this place, never been before," the Doctor grinned, nodding at Martha. "So we're not on Earth, sorry," he added quickly. "Small geographical error."

"How small?" she asked him seriously.

"Oh, _well_, only about a few hundred – um – million parsecs," he allowed gingerly. "And – well – maybe a few hundred years –"

"You muppet," she sighed under her breath.

"Er, well, then," he said pleasantly to the woman in chain mail, "might we enter the city?"

"You will restrain your man-servant, Lady Martha," the woman responded tightly. The Doctor opened his mouth, then just ran his tongue over his teeth slowly, deciding against a smart rejoinder. Martha looked up at him.

"I'll do the talking, young man," she said haughtily, and he eyed her.

"City? Or back to the TARDIS?" he asked seriously from the corner of his mouth.

"What, and miss the chance to prove that that wasn't actually a dragon?" she scoffed. "I don't think so, mister!"

"Ok, but you asked for it," he allowed airily. She yanked on his arm and walked forwards slowly, pulling him along.

"You have my apologies for the conduct of my – er – man-servant," she said bravely, and the woman nodded. "I would very much like to see the city, if that's alright."

"It is my pleasure to present you, Lady Martha," she said graciously. "You have travelled far, you must be tired."

"How did you know I'd travelled a long way?" she asked, pulling an intrigued Doctor in her wake.

"Your colouring, my lady. You are clearly from a far-off land," she said patiently. Martha just nodded.

"Oh yeah. I get that a lot," she said, and the woman smiled before turning and walking back down the cart track. She followed. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name," she said politely as they fell into step beside her.

"Berresh Tavkor," she said simply. "It means 'dragon-killer'," she added, somewhat proudly.

"You have real dragons?" Martha blurted.

"Your land does not?" she asked, surprised. "You saw that one. She was younger, smaller," she allowed. "There are bigger ones. But we are well defended," she said smugly. "And they are stupid, ugly beasts, nothing more. They cannot elude us forever, and our ruler – in her infinite wisdom – had devised a way to wipe them from the lands. Have no fear, they will soon be eradicated."

"They're just trying to survive," the Doctor put in harshly. "There's no need to –"

"Lady Martha, you really must discipline your slave!" she retaliated quickly. "I am quite tolerant, but the others, especially the Pak'tor, will not be so."

"Oh, yes," she said quickly, then looked up at the scowling Doctor, mouthing '_leave it_' at him. He huffed. "I'll make sure he behaves. It's just that we've been travelling together for a time, and well, we kinda get the rules blurred," she said gingerly.

"Pray you do not blur these lines should you meet with the Pak'tor," she said darkly. "She executes disobedient man-servants."

"What?" Martha breathed, looking up at the Doctor. He pulled his most urgent face, wide-eyed and serious, gesturing to the woman with his head, and Martha swallowed. "Well… is she always so strict?"

"Always," Tavkor said. "Although she is only recently our ruler, she does adhere to the traditions handed down by her mother," she said dutifully.

Martha kept judiciously silent. She looked up and caught the taller Gallifreyan's pout.

They walked on, and as Martha looked up she spotted the huge gates of a teeming city in the distance.


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

The gates to the city were standing wide open, two large, heavily armoured women standing either side.

"Er, forgive me for saying," Martha said politely to their escort, "but I thought the guards here would be men."

"Men?" Tavkor scoffed openly, looking at her. "Why would we entrust the safety of our city to a mere man?"

"Then where are they all?" the Doctor asked, surveying the open dirt streets and noticing a distinct lack of males.

"Lady Martha," Tavkor began, and Martha stopped and looked at the Doctor.

"Now listen here, man-servant," she said crossly, wagging a finger in his face, "Don't make me beat you! You'd just better be on your best behaviour mister, or your life will not be worth living. Do you understand me?" she finished, putting her hands on her hips for effect.

The Doctor just looked back at her, his eyes wide and his chin jutting out expectantly. Martha made sure that Tavkor was safely behind her and winked at the Doctor quickly. He straightened and nodded quickly.

"Yes mistress," he said brightly, "absolutely, mistress, sorry to offend, mistress!"

"Ok, that'll do," she warned, flicking him a cheeky smile before wiping it off and turning back to look at Tavkor. "Men, eh?" she offered.

"Quite," Tavkor said, eyeing the Doctor suspiciously before turning back to look at the city gates.

She walked on and the two tourists followed her. The dirt streets and busy people, the smells and noises, everything made Martha smile. It was so _real_, so amazing in its moving, vivid life.

People in all colours of cotton and wool clothes busied around, everything was fashioned with leather or twine, the stalls of wooden frames lashed together with the thickest of it.

Martha put her hand to the corner of a wooden cart, smiling at the feel of it against her fingers and letting it remind her, in a musty, real kind of way, of the hay-strewn smell of Shakespeare's Southwark. She felt a gentle push from behind and walked on quickly.

She couldn't help but notice everyone stopping to stare. She remembered her red leather jacket and obviously sparkling jewellery probably wouldn't be common here. She wondered if they'd ever seen someone with skin her colour before; it didn't seem as though anyone here was anything other than pale with blonde hair.

But as they walked on through the dirt streets, full of stalls and animals and carts, she realised it wasn't her at all. Everyone in the street, every one of them female, was turning to look at them as they walked. She noticed they were looking above her head, and suddenly had a bad feeling.

She looked up at the Doctor as he walked on, looking around with the innocent, delighted enjoyment of a small boy on a school field trip. She looked around, noticing everyone catching sight of him and then stopping to gawp.

One older woman stopped directly in their path, and the Doctor had to stop to avoid bumping into her. He stepped neatly round her, just about missing her sleeve.

"Whoops, pardon me," he said cheerfully, a large, friendly smile on his face.

The woman gasped and tutted at him, shooting him a dirty look as he noticed and walked on, keeping up with a pull on his arm from Martha.

"Strange woman," he muttered to himself. Martha looked up at him, then back at Tavkor gingerly.

They walked on through the crowded market streets, Martha noticing more and more people staring at them.

"Whoops, sorry," she heard the Doctor say suddenly, sliding his arm out of Martha's grip to split round two elderly ladies in his path. She turned in time to hear the two women gasp and grumble, shaking their heads and barrelling on as if he weren't there. "Don't mind me," he added grumpily to their retreating backs. "Honestly! Brisk lot, aren't they?" he asked Martha.

"Don't wander off," she said quickly, reaching out and taking his wrist, pulling him behind her. "There's something about these women that worries me."

"What, apart from the hygiene?" he tutted. He stopped suddenly as he collided with a wide, blonde lady carrying a canvas bag over her shoulder. "_Ak_! Sorry!" he cried, bending to pick up the bag, which had slid to the ground.

He lifted it and handed it out to her. "Sorry about that, wasn't watching –"

She snatched it off him and then simply slapped him hard about the face. He staggered back a few steps, pressing his hand to his face and hissing something through teeth clenched very, very tightly.

"Oi!" Martha protested, grabbing the woman's arm to spin her round. She looked down at her.

"Then _you_ make him behave!" she growled, wrenching her arm from Martha's grasp and giving the Doctor one more searing glare before storming past him. He was pushed to one side and had to be nimble to keep his balance.

Martha watched the woman go, then just looked at the Doctor.

"Did you see that?" he demanded, his voice wedged at a high pitch. "How rude is that! I said I was sorry!" he protested.

"I know. I don't think it was what you _said_ that offended her," she said gingerly, taking his free hand and pulling him on behind her. She caught up with Tavkor as he massaged his face bitterly, thinking.

"May I convey you to the Pak'tor?" Tavkor asked, stopping and looking at Martha. "We have so few visitors of your status," she added proudly.

"Status?" she asked, lost.

"Forgive me, Lady Martha," she said quickly. "You are clearly someone of great import, with your attire and your expensive man-servant," she reasoned.

"Expensive?" the Doctor asked innocently. Martha nudged him hard in the ribs, not taking her eyes from Tavkor. He gummed his mouth shut quickly.

"Pak'tor sounds good," she said quickly, and Tavkor inclined her head.

"Then I shall take you to the palace for accommodation," she said pleasantly. "The Pak'tor will be pleased to meet you, I think, and will welcome your stay."

"Great!" she grinned, then looked up at the Doctor excitedly. He just rolled his eyes and let himself be pulled after her.

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"Look mate, I know this is going to be difficult for you, but just… do your best."

"You remember New York – the old one? Daleks, pig-men, very high towers?" he said, indignantly. "And Judoon – you _do_ remember the Judoon, right? And having to build Timey-Wimey detectors from Bakelite?" he pressed. "I'm not easily beaten, Martha Jones."

"Yeah mate, believe me I know. But this is different. This is going to be the hardest thing you've ever done," she said sternly.

He just sniffed at her. "I don't know about that – if you want to know about the hardest thing I've ever done, I'd have to –"

"See? All you have to do is just _not_ talk for the time we're in there, ok?" she interrupted, looking at him and letting her face melt into an apologetic almost-smile. "It just seems that men are frowned on full stop round here, and I don't want them carting you off to be executed just cos you couldn't keep that info-spewing flap of yours still for just a few minutes. Ok?"

He looked at her for a long moment, putting his hands in his pockets and thinking. He appeared to swing from side to side slightly, as great philosophical debates raged behind his serious eyes.

"Yep," he said at last, nodding and looking at his feet.

"Sure?" she asked.

He just nodded, keeping his gaze on his Converse, and she sighed unhappily.

"Ok then." She turned away from him deliberately, folding her arms and watching the doors in front of them.

They waited a good few minutes. She turned and looked at him slowly, but he was still watching his feet. He cleared his throat and she closed her eyes, expecting a fresh tirade of logorrhoea, but she heard nothing from him.

She opened her eyes and looked at him to find him rubbing his nose and looking more than a little thoughtful.

He looked up, caught her looking at him, and simply smiled brightly. She turned away quickly, fearing what colour her face was turning, beyond her control.

Another minute crept by in silence. She bit her lip, determined not to keep checking on him.

He sniffed. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable cascading breach of silence from the Time Lord.

Another minute inched past them, unbearable in its weighty certainty.

Another minute. She was just about to turn and _beg_ him to start explaining the whole Happy Numbers thing again simply to break the tension. Suddenly the doors opened.

They both looked up but Martha put her hand out across him, stopping him from passing by her side. He took a slow step back again and she walked up to the tall woman approaching them.

"Lady Martha, the Pak'tor is very interested in your arrival. She is having an informal state gathering at the moment, but could we trouble you to present yourself?"

The Doctor grinned and opened his mouth. Then he thought better of it and closed it again slowly. But he nudged her in the back and she grinned.

"You may. And it would be no trouble at all. I'll be delighted to meet the Pak'tor," she said happily.

The woman bowed her head and waved her hand toward the door.

"You have just arrived, and we have been rude in not allowing you to change first," she said smoothly. "For this reason, the Pak'tor is prepared to overlook the state of your man-servant," she added.

"The state of my…?" Martha turned and looked at the Doctor, who was looking down at his suit, lifting a hand and dusting off the front by the buttons casually. "Is he that bad?"

The woman just sighed and shook her head. "Things must be… very different where you live," she said quietly, and then waved toward the door again. "Please."

"Of course," Martha said, walking forward for the door. She raised her hand up over her shoulder, tipping a finger twice. "Boy! This way," she said with satisfaction. The Doctor simply followed, hands in his pockets.


	3. Chapter 3

**THREE**

The woman opened the doors slowly and waved Martha in. She resisted the urge to look back at the Doctor, and instead straightened her shoulders and put her best foot forward.

She walked in slowly, finding five rather regal looking ladies inside, their hair smelling of oranges, their dresses rather finer than all the others she had seen so far.

The room was huge, a rectangular state room with gold and silver furniture, and she had to wonder just how they came by it all in what was supposed to be the Middle Ages on some far away planet.

She heard a twittering from the women and looked at them. She instantly picked out the important one.

She was taller than the others, just by a few inches but enough to make Martha seem like a child. She had large, broad shoulders and appeared quite capable of disassembling Cybermen with her bare hands. Martha swallowed as the woman smiled serenely, waving her over.

"Ah, the Lady Martha," she said grandly, and she walked over, adjusting her jacket self-consciously. Suddenly she felt spectacularly out-classed. "My, my, you _are_ the exotic find," she said graciously.

Martha suddenly realised she had no idea of how to address her.

"Pak'tor," she said respectfully, inclining her head quite low, hoping it would serve. "I'm sorry to appear in this state, we've only just arrived." She cringed on the inside, knowing it sounded like a very lame excuse in front of someone who appeared to be royalty.

"Oh pish," she said with a wide smile, "you are dazzling, Lady Martha. Tell me, how far off are your lands? My aides tell me you live without dragons," she said. There was a ripple of polite, incredulous laughter from the other ladies round her, and Martha nodded.

"We do, Pak'tor," she said slowly. "And… well, my lands are very, very far away," she admitted.

"And what do you call these lands?" she asked, her full attention fixed on her. She appeared delighted, staring down at the much shorter human with burning curiosity. "We do not receive such splendid visitors here," she added with a wide smile.

"Oh, er… The TARDIS," she said.

"Ah. I've never heard of such a place. We don't have a tarrdiss, but we do have an east and a west," she said avidly.

"And even a south and north," one of the other ladies put in, smiling politely.

"_Every_ planet has a north," the Doctor muttered to himself, then frowned suddenly, thinking hard. Then his face lit up with enlightenment and he nodded to himself, grinning.

The heads of the ladies snapped up and they looked over at him.

"Oh dear!" the Pak'tor cried, and the Doctor blinked, looking over at her. "What is _that_?" she demanded quickly. Martha's face dropped.

"Oh, he's my man-servant," she said hastily. "New. Not broken in yet," she added quickly.

"I should think so!" the Pak'tor said, wrinkling her nose at the Doctor. He just looked back at her, his eyes wide and his face completely apologetic. "It's yours?" she asked.

"Yes," Martha said deliberately.

"But it's wearing _clothes_," she stressed delicately. "Why do you allow it such luxury?"

"Oh, well, in the TARDIS… it, er… gets quite cold," she managed weakly.

"Oh dear," the Pak'tor tutted, looking the Doctor up and down and clearly becoming increasingly intrigued with what she found. "Well, it _is_ yours, I suppose," she added. She turned away from him deliberately and looked at Martha. "Now then, I would dearly love you to stay here in the palace."

"And my man-servant?"

"Oh, if it must," she said, clearly displeased. Martha swallowed.

"He was… expensive," she said, thinking quickly.

"Ah. An investment, was it?"

"Er, yeah, kinda," she managed, not looking at the Doctor.

"I see. Well may we take it away and clean it for you, at least? And get rid of those dreary garments?"

Martha swallowed to prevent her next words from being a squeak. "I would be honoured if you'd take him away and clean him," she said. "But if it's at all possible, couldn't you find him some other, more suitable attire?"

"You _wish_ it to wear clothes?" the Pak'tor asked, greatly surprised. Martha thought quickly, then leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering her voice.

"Not a pretty sight, Pak'tor," she said quietly.

The Doctor cleared his throat quietly but she ignored him. The taller Pak'tor looked over at him, tilting her head and thinking.

"If you say so," she said thoughtfully. "Very well then. And if it's tradition where you're from, I should not interfere." She turned and looked at the other ladies. "Coves or suites?" she asked simply.

The other ladies looked him up and down slowly. "Suites," they chorused, as if rehearsed.

The Pak'tor nodded briskly. "As I thought." She clapped her hands. "Take it to the suites!" she called out imperiously.

Two aides – younger, shorter ladies in yellow – walked forward and simply placed their hands on his elbows, turning him round and all but frog-marching him out.

The circle of ladies watched them leave.

"Is it my imagination, or do they all look better from that angle?" the Pak'tor smiled, and the ladies with her giggled.

"An improvement," one of them put in.

"I can see why the Lady Martha lets it wear those trousers," one replied, and they giggled again. "I wonder if –"

"Ladies, do not be impolite," she said quickly, looking at Martha. "Lady Martha, would you care to freshen up?"

"Oh, er, yes please," she managed, her mind still whirling at the knowledge that she'd have to find him again in short order. In a huge palace. Surrounded by women guards.

The Pak'tor raised her hands and clapped again.

"Find our handsome young visitor some rooms," she said briskly. "And Lady Martha, please accept my invitation to dinner these evening. I wish you to tell me all about the tarrdiss lands and how you do not have dragons."

"Of course, Pak'tor, I'd be honoured," she said, inclining her head and forcing a smile on her face.

"Wonderful," she said, and the assembled girls giggled as another aide led Martha away.

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The aides ushered him along quickly, and they walked for a what seemed like a long time.

"It appears to be in good condition," one said, leaning forward to see past him, looking at her companion on his other arm.

"Doesn't it," she said with a smile. "And the Lady Martha said we were to give it garments. To _wear_," she giggled.

"I know!" she hissed, laughing. "You can see why, though."

"I wonder if she takes gold as payment," the other said. She leaned back as they walked, looking down behind the Doctor, then weaved round ahead of him again to look at the other woman. "Most alluring. I think she just wants to keep garments on it to stop others from seeing what she doesn't want them to use," she said flatly.

"She's a clever one, this Lady Martha."

"Hmm," she said speculatively.

The Doctor simply sniffed to himself, listening to them chat about him as if weren't there.

Eventually they stopped along the stone hallway, the rushes and animal-skin rugs making the Time Lord's nose twitch.

The aide on his left produced keys and unlocked a large wooden door. She walked in and pulled him with her. She turned and folded her arms, looking at him.

"Now then, slave. You will make yourself clean – as clean as any male knows how," she said scathingly. He opened his mouth but thought better of it. "And we shall return with garments for you," she said. "You will wear them. And remember you're lucky to be here, slave. The Lady Martha seems a very charitable person, giving you all this luxury. Behave."

He simply looked at her. She regarded him, watching his brooding, omnipotent eyes look back at her with something she found unsettling.

She cleared her throat and gestured to the other aide with her head. They whisked themselves out of the door and locked it smartly.

"Look! A new one!" someone said from behind him.

He turned on the balls of his feet to find five men of differing ages watching him. Each one was stocky and blonde, wearing a loose short-sleeved shirt wrapped from left to right. They all had black, easy-fitting trousers and laced boots.

"Oh hello!" he said cheerfully, smiling at them all daffily.

"Oh dear gods, he's an idiot," one of the men sighed. The Doctor's face fell.

"Sorry?"

"What happened to you, friend?" the shortest one said. The Doctor looked at him, guessing him to be roughly late teens to early twenties.

"Happened?" he prompted, confused.

"Were you going somewhere?" another said, and they all laughed.

"Actually yes. We were just walking down the road when we saw this huge great –"

"We?" the man in the middle asked. He folded his arms across his chest and planted his feet. "Are there more of you?"

"I think you mean, did I come here alone," the Doctor corrected. "No. I came with a friend, she's off talking to –"

"She? A friend?" the younger one interrupted. The Doctor looked at him. "Oh! You mean your _mistress_?"

"_Nah_," he said dismissively, putting his hands in his pockets and walking round them idly, into the middle of the room. "I'm the lord, she's the travelling companion," he said cheerfully, looking at the stone walls and extremely Spartan lodgings.

"A lord, he says!" one cried, and they laughed again. The Doctor turned and looked at them.

"Right then," he said decisively, "who's going to tell me all about dragons, and explain why all the men are locked away as servants?"

"Oh, we're not _servants_," the smaller, youngest one grinned.

"No? I thought the lock on the door and the accommodation kind of –"

"If we were servants, we wouldn't get clothes – and we'd be in the coves, not here, in the suites," the taller one interrupted. "We're special, we are," he said, and there were nods and sounds of agreements all round.

"How's that?" he asked, watching them avidly. "What do you do?"

"We're breeders, friend. Studs. And if you're in here, so are you."


	4. Chapter 4

**FOUR**

Martha walked into her 'humble guest quarters', as her aide had described them, and realised that even in the Middle Ages, faking delight was a chore.

"Oh, nice!" she said, hoping her face showed enjoyment.

"We are glad you are pleased, Lady Martha," her aide smiled, relaxing. "Please do not hesitate to call for anything you need."

"Oh – well there is one thing," she said quickly.

"Of course, Lady Martha."

"My man-servant – where did he go?" she asked directly. "I know he's to be cleaned and kitted out, but could I have him back?"

"You wish it to service you this night?" she asked, surprised. "After your long journey?"

"Oh, well, he does other things, too," she said, biting her lip. The aide's eyes glazed for a second.

"Really?" she asked quietly, her gaze not completely lucid.

"Yeah," she said pointedly. "Could I have him back?"

The aide shook herself slightly. "Of course, Lady Martha. I shall have him sent up in short order. Would you be requiring food?"

"Oh, yes _please_," she heaved, grinning. "I don't think I've eaten today. We just kinda got excited, finding this place and rushing out to see what it was like," she grinned.

"I see," said the aide, who clearly did not. "I shall send up our best food for you, my lady."

"Just a bit though, I'm having dinner with the Pak'tor later," she said excitedly. "Thank you, thank you very much," she added.

The aide nodded and smiled, turning and walking out quickly. Martha turned and looked round the room, finding the open double chairs and tall windows waiting for her to criticise them.

"You know, just for once, I'll just… accept," she said, walking over to the window and looking out.

She spotted a group of men talking in the cobbled courtyard below, and smiled faintly. Then she frowned, watching them straighten and avert their eyes quickly as two ladies walked past. She shook her head slowly, turning back to the room and looking for some kind of fresh water to wash in.

-------------------------------------------------

"Breeders?" the Doctor echoed. "Why would they need breeders?"

"He's soft in the head," the tallest one sighed, turning away. "Why do we only get idiots?"

"He's new," the smaller one said quickly. He turned and looked up at the Doctor. "At least, I think he is. Where did you come from?" he asked brightly.

"The TARDIS," he said cheerfully. "And you're all local lads, are you?"

"Well Manny here is from across the water," another said, indicating the youngest man and then walking forward, "but yeah, we're all basically Cyleen lads. Look, this is going to sound a bit rude, but… does your mistress always dress you like that?"

"Dress me?" the Doctor prompted, then snorted. "I dress myself, would you believe. Speaking of which, do you lot all shop at the same store, or something?" he asked.

The youngest one, Manny, just looked at him.

"You dress yourself, and you call your mistress your friend," he said quietly. "Where is this TARDIS land? Is it far away?"

"Well, kinda," he dithered, pulling at an ear and looking at the ceiling. Then he looked back down at Manny. "Go back to the bit about breeders," he said, his face showing the first signs of worry.

"Well, it's just always been this way," he said simply. "We're kept here – really well, actually, and when one of them fine ladies wants one of _us_, we get sent up. We do the business and get sent back down again."

The Doctor's face hardened.

"And you just live here, waiting for orders?" he asked stonily.

"It's a nice life, really," the older one said, almost fondly. "To be honest, all we have to do it eat, sleep, keep ourselves clean and wait for the shout."

"Not bad at all," another man remarked, and the Doctor tutted, looking at the ceiling.

"That's cos your Lady Ermin really likes you," Manny said, with a broad smile. "Three calls in one week? She must have taken to you."

"Maybe," the older one put in. "She just needs a child before the Winter Festival next year, and she can't rely on any of you useless boys," he grinned.

"Well when she gets an eyeful of the lord here, maybe she'll change her shout," Manny winked and the others laughed.

"What does that mean?" the Doctor asked quickly.

"Well, you're new," Manny pointed out, "And clearly foreign. If I was her, I'd like to fish in new waters, so to speak."

The Doctor wiped his hands over his face, shaking his head.

"Well she'd have a job catching anything in these waters," he sighed to himself, and Manny looked confused for a long moment. Suddenly his face cleared.

"By all the gods!" he cried, surprised, and all heads turned to look at the younger man. "You mean you can't – you're not – you can't –"

"It's genetic," the Doctor interrupted stiffly. There were blank faces all round. "Genetic? In my DNA? Part of my cells? Factory-fitted?" he offered. "No?"

"Handed down from your sire?" Manny hazarded.

"Kinda – my sort and your sort just aren't compatible," he said. "Wrong endocrines and chemicals not to mention a complete lack of human chorionic gonadotropin catalysts – for obvious reasons," he rattled off, apparently to himself.

"Do people from your lands always talk like you?" he asked, confused.

"Manny, all you need to know is that I'm not going to be here very long."

"You're bloody right you're not if you can't do the job," the tallest one scoffed.

" '_Doing the job_', as you so charmingly put it, is one thing," he snapped irritably. "Leaving her with anything more than pleasant memories of my aftershave is another."

"After-what?"

"Sounds rude," Manny muttered. The others started to blurt out questions and offer their own opinions on just what constituted completion of a given task.

"Oi, oi, fellas!" the Doctor said loudly, over their noisy confused discussions. "Is someone going to explain to me why you have dragons but you want them all dead?"

"About to be executed for not being a real man and he's worried about bloody great lizards," the taller one tutted.

"Yep, what _is_ your name?" the Doctor snapped irritably.

"Dart," he said. "Sorry about that, friend, I didn't mean to –"

"Dart – shut it, there's a good boy," he said sternly, waving his hand across his throat in a cutting gesture.

There was a knock on the door and they all looked over. It opened and an aide swept in.

"Oh dear me. One simple instruction and you couldn't even follow that," she tutted, looking the Doctor up and down. She turned to the door and waved in three large women, one of whom was carrying a new shirt, pair of black trousers and boots. "Girls," she said simply, folding her arms, distinctly unimpressed, "clean it."

The largest girl closed the door behind them, and they advanced on the Doctor.

-------------------------------------------------

"Well, Lady Martha, it has been most interesting to share dinner with you. But I suspect you are tired, yes?" the Pak'tor said charmingly.

"Actually, I'm more worried about my man-servant," she said. "I asked for him to be sent up to my room, but he hasn't appeared."

"Oh, I am most sorry. I do hope it was not called by another lady. We do try to keep them in order, but sometimes people see the new stock and cannot help themselves," she said. "Only last week I had a falling-out with the lady regent for the south, because she was trying to jump the queue."

"Oh!" Martha gasped, then controlled herself. "Well… Well I wanted to – you see, the fact is, he's _mine_," she said urgently.

"Yours? You won't share it?" she asked.

Martha bit her lip for a second. "As I think I mentioned before, Pak'tor, he was very expensive and I've not finished breaking him in."

"Ah. A little clumsy, is it?" she asked knowingly. "I hate it when you get one that needs instructions," she said, wrinkling her nose delicately, and the other ladies round the table nodded sympathetically.

"Yes, well," Martha said carefully. "I would like to retire for the night. It's been lovely, Pak'tor," she said warmly. "You've been most kind to me, when I'm just a lost traveller."

"No, no, you do me a great honour, Lady Martha," she said kindly, getting to her feet. The other ladies did the same, and Martha took the opportunity to stand and leave the table as graciously as she could, trying not to run for the door. "And we shall find your servant and send it up forthwith," the Pak'tor added.

"Thank you very much, Pak'tor. Well… goodnight ladies," she said warmly, letting the aide appear from nowhere and guide her from the room.

The ladies watched the door close behind her and then sat again slowly.

"Hmm," the Pak'tor mused suspiciously.


	5. Chapter 5

**FIVE**

Martha just had time to close the door to her room when a stiff knock startled her.

"Yes!" she called, and it opened to reveal yet another female aide.

"Lady Martha, your servant has been cleaned and prepared to service you," she said, bowing her head respectfully.

"Oh, er… thanks," she said weakly, and the aide nodded and turned, stepping to her side. She grabbed a pale-skinned elbow and thrust it toward the doorway.

"Now behave," she hissed irritably, and the Doctor let himself be pushed in through the door.

Martha looked him up and down, putting a hand over her mouth quickly to clamp it shut. He simply watched the aide close the door behind him, then turned to look at her.

"There you are – I am _so_ relieved," he said.

Her eyes went to his hair and she was staggered by the way it just flopped, as if someone had literally just dumped a bucket of water over his head and it had dried as it had landed.

"What?" she managed, letting her hand drop. "Why?"

"Because I was starting to think I'd never talk to anyone with brains again," he said, walking past her and going straight to the large windows, looking out.

She let her eyes wander over the outfit they'd dressed him in. The thick black cotton shirt was short-sleeved, unfortunate for someone as long-limbed and finely-boned as he. It had been designed for one half of the front to be kept in place with the other side wrapped over it, but then it had obviously been designed for people much heavier than himself. As it was, the cord for the front had been threaded right round him before being tied.

His trousers, obviously a couple of sizes too large for his waist, were being held up with similar cord, and refused to tuck into his boots.

_At least the trousers are long enough_, she mused.

He turned from his gaze out of the window and looked at her.

"So what did you and – what?" he asked, confused by the look on her face.

She just waved a finger up and down him, speechless.

"Yeah, I know," he sighed wearily. "I'd like a word or six with their tailor."

"Mate, you should nick that for when we leave, and copyright it. You could sell that the world over, a million men all over Earth will thank you for making them look thinner," she grinned, then tried to keep her gaze from repeatedly going back to the V in the neckline. He just looked at her.

"Yeah, great, fascinating," he said irritably. "Look, what has this Pak'tor said about dragons?" he asked quickly. She let her smile fade.

"She's got this plan for getting rid of them," she said slowly.

"Did she say what it was?" he demanded, his hands searching for his pockets, she noticed. There weren't any, and he huffed to himself. "Why?"

"Well… they kill farmers out in the fields, she said. They eat the livestock and set fire to stuff. And they steal their treasure," she added. "Although I'm not sure what that means."

"Oh rubbish!" the Doctor scoffed, pulling a face that Martha could only describe with the phrase 'bad ham'. "_She's_ the one stealing stuff – did you see all the gold she had in her gaff? Eh?" he demanded, eyes wide with vindication.

"I noticed quite a lot of gold, yeah, but –"

"And did you notice it's not locally made?" he barrelled on. "She didn't mention the fact that they kill dragons and nick their beds, did she?"

"Doctor," she said patiently, shaking her head, "dragons don't really sleep on gold, that's just a m–"

He blew out a huff and turned, picking up a gold statue and walking toward Martha with it in his hand.

"Right then, look here," he said, turning it upside down. "There, you see?" he pointed out, and she peered at the mark on the bottom. "That seal around the bottom, Martha Jones, is from _one_ furnace. Now look at anything else in this room – there," he added, walking over quickly and picking up another stature, much smaller. He brought it back over and turned it round until he found a similar seal. "See? Completely different. They've come from different smelting –"

"That doesn't mean she's stolen them," she said quickly. "Look, what's got you on this dragon kick anyway?" she demanded. "Why are you more worried about them than about you being banged up as my man-servant?"

He kept his eyes on the statues in his hands, bringing them both up nearer his face for him to see more clearly.

"Oh I don't know, there are worse lives to be had," he mused to himself. She huffed and put her hands out, taking the statues from him abruptly and pushing them back on the side table.

"Doctor!" she accused. "What's really going on here?"

He looked at her for a long moment, and she watched his chin sink slowly. His eyes rolled up toward her gaze, wide and serious.

"The men in the servants' quarters," he said heavily. "They said this queen wants all the dragons wiped out."

"Well duh!" she breathed. "They're _dragons_."

"They're an entire race that were here long before this lot!" he shot back angrily. "And all they do is _survive_, Martha Jones! They don't start wars, they don't subjugate their males, and they don't –"

"Oh so this is all because the women are in charge, is it?" she interrupted.

"No, this is all because a ruler has decided that her race is superior to another one!" he snapped. "Are you familiar with Earth history?"

"Doctor, this is completely different! They're just beasts – _killers_!"

"Is it? So why don't we just skip back to Earth and kill all the sharks? The tigers?" he pressed. "Why don't Time Lords go round exterminating humans cos they kill millions of other, _innocent_ humans every day through wars, ignorance, and just plain selfishness?" he demanded.

She opened her mouth and stopped herself.

They looked at each other for a long moment, and she put her hands over her mouth slowly.

"I didn't mean it like that," she breathed quietly, "and I think you know it."

He stared at her, then flicked his gaze over her head, sniffing and nodding smartly.

"Yeah, I did. I'm sorry," he said abruptly. He looked back at her as she slid her hands from her face again.

"Me too," she said quietly. "Look, she said she had this plan to work out. The other ladies were kind of all for it. And… I was, at the time," she added quietly.

"Yeah well, _everything_ seems like a good idea at the time," he allowed, lifting a hand and scratching the back of his head. "Did she say what it was?"

"No. She just said that all her other plans had failed – she reckons these dragons are a sneaky bunch," she said.

"Could be," he mused, looking over her head and she sensed great plans and their downfalls being worked through in his head at a million miles an hour. "Or it could be that… that they just don't know their adversary," he breathed, apparently to himself. He blinked and looked down at her. "Did she mention the last time one was killed?"

"Oh, did she!" Martha scoffed. "She was telling me how brave they all were – you remember that Berresh Tavkor woman, the one we met on the road? Well she's killed two of them herself," she said.

"Really," he said flatly, unconvinced. "And how did she accomplish that, all by herself?"

"She… waited till they were asleep," she said darkly.

"And there you have it," he nodded firmly, tutting with disgust. "What a bunch of heroes, eh?"

"Doctor… They said they were fighting for their homes, and families, against this army of marauding beasts," she said quietly. "It's a bit different from that angle, isn't it?"

"And what do the dragons tell their families when they go home at night? '_Oh, hi darling, squished another primate-descendent today, put another point on the scoreboard for me will you_'?" he said scathingly. "Do you think they're doing this to be evil? And how many people have they actually killed, anyway? _Apart_ from the ones trying to jump them when they're asleep?" he added pointedly.

She sighed. "Alright, alright," she said quickly. She looked up at him, catching his black look full-on. "Look, I get it. Perhaps I just heard the wrong story first," she said, sighing heavily. She wiped a hand over her face, then looked up at him. "But there's no need to get so upset, mate, it's just me," she said, more accommodating. "I'm on _your_ side, remember?" she teased, putting a finger out and poking his shirt gently. She pulled it away again quickly, shocked. "What's _that_?" she gasped.

He grinned suddenly, putting his hand down inside the wrap of the shirt and fishing around.

"Well I couldn't let them take _this_ away," he grinned, pulling out his screwdriver. She let her shoulders sag and just giggled.

"Alright mister, what's in that head of yours this time?"

"Well," he said mischievously, leaning to tower over her with an eyebrow scrambling for the dizzy heights up under his rakishly fine fringe, "I thought we'd go for a walk, Miss Jones. Up for it?"

"Am I ever," she smiled.


	6. Chapter 6

**SIX**

They set out under the moonlight, Martha putting her arm through his as they strolled out through the city gates.

"Where are we heading?" she asked.

"We're dragon hunting," he said with a smile. She watched him, still getting used to his hair that draped over his head like an empty banana skin on Valium.

"And how do we find them?" she asked.

"Easy," he said with a self-satisfied smile, "we follow _that_," he said, lifting his free hand and pointing up toward the clouds, fluffy grey against the purple-black sky.

She looked up and caught her breath.

A huge shape loomed against the brighter clouds, the great wingspan almost making the nose-to-tail issue look unimportant.

She swallowed.

"You know," she mused quietly, "I can see why people would want to get rid of them."

"Can you?" he asked, surprised, looking down at her in the dim light as they walked. "I would have thought a sight like that would… would convince you otherwise," he added lamely.

"Ok, granted, they are beautiful to look at – when they're far away from me and not about to come my way," she acceded. He snorted.

"You humans – always worried about what happens the next moment," he said to himself.

"And you Gallifreyans?" she said pointedly.

"Always worried about what happens in the long run," he said knowingly.

"Oh," she said quietly. "Ok, you've got a point there."

They walked on in comfortable silence, Martha holding onto his arm firmly, and not just because it was the first time she had seen it without a shirt sleeve.

-------------------------------------------------

"This is going to be marvellous," he grinned, as they inched up to the edge of the cliff on their elbows.

"If you say so, mate," she said. "I can't believe we're so close to them all, and you're just lapping it up."

"Martha," he protested plaintively, "how many people from Earth can say they've seen an entire field of dragons?" He lifted his head cautiously and looked over the bluff.

"Well?" Martha whispered, from the grass next to him, keeping her head down.

"Oh no," he sighed, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open as if he'd forgotten it had muscles. She watched him, biting her lip in trepidation.

"What?"

"Oh… _no_," he groaned in anguish. She swallowed and shuffled up to the edge, lifting her head up to look too.

She saw dragons – how many, she couldn't count. Large ones, smaller ones, dark green ones, burnished brown ones, all lying in various poses around the vast hillside, under the moon shining so brightly.

"What are they doing?" she whispered, confused.

"Nothing," he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his forehead fall to his hands, on the grass. She looked at him, non-plussed. "And they never will. They're all dead."

She looked over the bluff again quickly, simply staring. She realised the strange patterns in which they were lying weren't simply odd sleeping positions.

She blinked as something rippled the moonlight over them, and looked up to see the one dragon fly over the hills slowly. It seemed to be gliding, surveying everything with infinite patience.

"There! There's our one!" she gasped, nudging him quickly. He looked up and over, spying the lone beast they had just followed, pin-wheeling against the clouds.

She looked at the Doctor, watching his eyes narrow slowly, his lips thinning in anger as his jaw began to jut to one side dangerously.

"How?" she dared. "How could they _all_ be dead?"

"My guess would include the Pak'tor," he said accusingly.

"She _said_ she had plans to wipe them all out!" she hissed, surprised. "Why didn't I-"

"Well there's one left, and she's not getting that one too," he said stubbornly. She looked at him.

"Now wait a minute, Doctor –"

"For what? For her and her tiny-minded minions to kill the last dragon? The last one? The last of its kind?" he stressed, pinning her with a look that brooked no argument.

She bit her lip and looked away quickly.

"Let's face it, all alone, without any of its own kind or help, its not going to live a long and glorious life anyway, is it?" he snapped.

"Doctor…" she began, but didn't know what to say. He refused to look at her.

"Come on, we have work to do," he said firmly, starting to inch back from the cliff edge.

A huge dark shape loomed over them and he grabbed the back of her jacket, stopping her and pushing her down.

"Don't move!" he hissed urgently.

Martha squeezed her eyes shut as she heard a low rumbling sound come really very close to the back of her head. Then she felt the heat on the back of her neck, heard the rumbling of something snuffling and breathing right behind her. She felt the Doctor's hand lift slowly and just kept still, waiting. She counted the seconds, desperate not to breathe too loudly.

A single thought slapped at her perspective and sobered her very quickly: _How did it sneak up behind us without us hearing it?_

Suddenly it was moving away, the sound and heat withdrawing. She bit her lip and waited, counting to a full minute before turning her head slowly and opening her eyes to check for the Time Lord.

He was no longer there.

She resisted the urge to give way to full-blown panic, instead turned herself slowly to the right, looking across the grass.

She found a huge foot, easily six feet across, made up of four huge, scaly toes with talons larger than her head on the end of each. She swallowed and moved round to a crouch slowly, hearing strange rumbling sounds and following the foot up the scaly leg to which it was attached.

The body went up and up, and she ran her gaze up over the creature slowly, not sure whether to scuttle away in fear or just simply fall back into the grass and marvel at it.

It was a deep, deep green, the tiny scales reflecting the moonlight with their infinitesimal edges catching the light. The shimmering effect as the huge bellows moved in and out, the breathing irregular and noisy, reminded her of someone snoring through a nightmare.

She shook herself and looked up, finding the wings held high, shielding the long neck from the sun. She dared to follow the neck as it stretched down toward the grass, still scared of what she might find.

Her gaze reached the head and she froze, shocked.

She had expected to find the Doctor's legs hanging out of the huge mouth, cartoon-style, or perhaps just his new boots on the grass, blood-stained and rent seam from seam.

Instead she found him leaning the full length of his body against the side of the beast's head, hovering a few feet from the grass. The side of his face was pressed against the dark green scales, his hands up and his palms against the smooth surface of the large, apparently moist area under the dragon's eye socket. His eyes were tightly closed and he looked to be concentrating very hard on something.

She didn't dare move. She simply stared as the minutes ticked by, watching him lean against the beast, the breath roaring through its ribcage not twenty feet from her, its tail twitching slightly now and again.

The nostrils flared suddenly and it gave a great snort, the eyes rolling round. She watched a transparent, inside lid fold down and wash over the huge ball watching nothing, watched the strange, milky liquid escape from the eye.

She swallowed and put her hands to her face, keeping her mouth firmly closed.

_It's… crying!_ she realised. _How can a dragon cry!_

The Doctor opened his eyes slowly, smoothing his hand over the side of the giant face and muttering something soothing for a few moments. She watched him lean back to stand straight, and then she blinked as he put the heel of his hand into his eye, rubbing it almost irritably.

_If he _ever_ asks, I'll pretend I didn't see that._

She waited and he sniffed professionally, stepping back from the dragon and letting his hands wander toward his pockets. He realised he still didn't have any in his servant's trousers and instead held his hands behind his back.

"Well," he said quietly, surprised. She swallowed.

"Can I get up now?" she whispered. The huge head billowed out a great snuff and snort, and then lifted high suddenly. The eyes turned and focused on her.

"Yep," he said shortly, watching the dragon retreat a step steadily. "She's not going to eat you."

"She?" she dared, getting to her feet carefully. The Doctor turned and looked at her.

"Yeah. It's a 'she'," he said with a small, satisfied smile. Martha walked closer to him, hoping that staying closer to him would make it harder for the dragon to step on her alone.

"She told you that, did she?" she wondered.

The Doctor just smiled, and she looked from him to the dragon slowly. She found herself staring at the eyes, as they stared back at her. Suddenly the dragon slewed her head down on the thick neck and brought her eye socket very close to Martha.

She jumped slightly and moved back. The Doctor grabbed her arm and pulled her back again gently.

"Relax. She's not going to eat you," he said gently.

"Are you sure?" she asked, watching the dragon pull back her head enough to run her nostrils up and down the air in front of them.

"She can't eat. Not yet," he said quietly, putting his hand out slowly and placing it on the skin between the nostrils, smiling.

"Is this like a lion thing?" she asked shakily. "Where they eat once a week?"

"She's not a lion," he allowed quietly, as the dragon tilted her head slightly. She pulled it back away from them, then turned it gracefully on the long neck and pushed it up against the Doctor, rubbing his bare arm with the bone just under her eye-socket. "Aww, look at that," he gushed warmly, grinning at the gesture.

Martha simply concentrated on standing still and staring.

"You still think they're just killers?" he asked quietly.

"N – no," Martha managed. "But… do we have to stand so close? And why didn't she eat you just now?" she asked.

"Martha Jones," he said quietly, watching the dragon close her eyes and push the side of her head against his arm gently, making deep moaning noises. "Dragons don't eat people."

"What?" she dared.

"Torch them, burn their houses, eat their cattle, yes. But eat them? No. Wrong proteins," he said confidently. "It'd be like you eating carpet."

"Thanks," she said weakly. "So… What do we do? How do we stop the Pak'tor?" she asked.

"My first thought would be: quickly."


	7. Chapter 7

**SEVEN**

The Doctor pushed his way through the TARDIS door and strode up the ramp, oblivious to Martha following quickly, attempting to grab the back of his cotton shirt.

"Doctor!" she called for the fifth time.

"I'm listening," he called over his shoulder, passing the Time Rotor and simply barrelling on down the zig-zagging corridor off to the side.

"Slow down! Look, what's the plan?" she called, giving up trying to stop him.

"Hide and seek!" he called, and she threw her hands in the air, stopping and waiting in the corridor. "They're going to go and check the dragons are all dead, and the only way to do that is go down there and…" His voice became fainter and fainter as he disappeared deeper and deeper into the huge ship.

Martha leaned against the wall, waiting.

After a few minutes she folded her arms and sniffed, lifting a foot to rest it back against the wall too.

After a few _more_ minutes she thought about going to look for him.

Eventually she heard the familiar buzz of his cheerful voice floating up the corridor toward her.

"… and then all we have to do is find somewhere to sit her," he said, his voice getting loud enough to hear again. Martha straightened off the wall, hands on hips, as he appeared from round the corner.

She watched him pass her, his arms full of an assortment of metal boxes, apparatus and what appeared to be a large plastic bag of small, lumpy items. She just followed him back toward the control room.

"Doctor, we can't just –"

"Right, watch _this_," he said cheerfully, "I am about to be brilliant." He walked off toward the control room again.

Martha sighed and followed him, walking back out to the main control room to find him sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting through the available items and tutting to himself, muttering.

"Doctor," she said patiently. "When you said hide and seek, did you mean –"

"Hide and seek," he said cheerfully, picking up a metal box and bringing it closer to his ear, shaking it. "That's the puppy," he grinned to himself, reaching inside his shirt for the screwdriver.

"With a dragon? We're going to play hide and seek with a dragon?" she asked clearly, crouching down to look at him.

"Not at all," he said helpfully. "_Well_," he stressed suddenly, "I suppose you could call it that if you mean we're on _her_ side keeping her shifted to where they're not hunting and – weren't you listening?" he asked irritably.

"You were out of earshot," she said tersely.

"For Earth ears, maybe," he grumped.

"Doctor –"

"Now you see," he interrupted, using the screwdriver to unlock the box and flipping it open with his thumb, "the trick with hide and seek or in fact any old Earth child's game is to make the hunter – in this case the big women – think they know something they don't which makes them overconfident and then you have time to –"

"_Doctor!_" she snapped.

He jumped and dropped the screwdriver in surprise. Then he sniffed, cleared his throat pointedly and picked it up from where it had fallen, straightening his back before squinting again at the box.

"Well?" he asked seriously.

"Look… you're doing it again," she said wearily.

"No I'm not, that was a _different_ box," he said innocently, his eyes still on the part in his hand.

"Doctor…" she sighed. "I thought we were past all this! I thought _you_ thought you could trust me with plans and complicated things like _which side we're on_," she stressed.

His hands paused and his eyes rolled up to look at her slowly. He was quiet a long moment, but she didn't dare let her stern gaze waver.

"So you're upset because…?" he asked slowly.

"Because I don't know what all this hide and seek business is supposed to be about, that's why!" she cried indignantly. "Are you going to explain my part in all this?"

"Of course I will! After I've figured some of the odds, adjusted some of the arrangements and… well… sort of –"

"You have no idea what you're going to do next, do you?" she sighed, letting her anger go abruptly. He looked offended.

"Of course I do," he protested indignantly. "I'm going to couple these two together to make a –"

"Doctor," she said wearily, but she actually felt like smiling. She shook her head, letting herself smile and wondering, not for the first time, how she ever got angry with him in the first place.

She looked up to find him still working, watching his hands, but after a second he flicked his gaze up to check on her, then back down to his hands.

"You know," he said curiously, and she put her elbow on her knee, putting her chin in the hand.

"What?" she asked, much more accommodating.

"You've taken to this man-servant thing rather quickly," he observed, keeping his gaze on his hands as he picked through the parts and lifted another box.

"Oh. Well. It was adapt or let you get executed," she said, shrugging slightly. "Couldn't have you taken away from me. I'd left my key here."

"Unwise," he breathed, pre-occupied.

"Human error," she said pointedly.

"I hear that Pak'tor seems to like you," he mused, sniffing and picking up another part, this time a kind of tube with wires hanging out of both ends. He clamped the screwdriver in his teeth as he pared the wires at each end, bending them round carefully.

"How do you hear that?" she asked, surprised.

"Servants' quarters, Martha – always the best place to get the accurate information," he mumbled past the instrument in his mouth.

"Yeah well."

"You should be careful –" He paused to take the screwdriver from his teeth, " – Or she might offer you a place on her council."

"What? Me?" she prompted, surprised. "I don't think so, mister!"

"That's what I've heard," he said, eyebrows hiding up under his fringe.

"You've got to be kidding me! Me? Be a councillor? Here?" she demanded, shocked.

He slid his fingers round the tube, squinting at it and wrinkling his nose as he thought about something.

"Would be right up your street. They could do a lot worse," he commented under his breath, putting the part on his knee and holding the next one to it.

"Oh really," she scoffed, letting her gaze wander round the inside of the TARDIS. "As if I could do a good job of it. Sounds like that other girl you travelled with, what's her name… Rose, could have done it with relish to spare," she snorted flippantly.

The Doctor continued working, squinting at the parts and watching his fingers move, but she noticed the slight humour had drained from his face.

"Sorry," she said quietly.

"For what?" he asked gently, watching his fingers work.

"Well, for… For mentioning her. She stills makes you sad, doesn't she?" she dared softly.

The Doctor grinned suddenly, catching her by surprise. "Never," he said easily.

"Look, er… While we're on the subject," she dithered.

"Hmm?" he prompted, as she screwed up her courage.

"Well… I just wondered… Am I doing a good job here? I mean, doing what Rose used to do," she added lamely.

The Doctor simply lifted his eyes and looked at her, a friendly, unaffected smile on his face.

"Is that what you really want to ask me?" he asked quietly. She straightened her shoulders, letting her hand fall from her knee and sniffing to herself.

"Alright… No, it isn't," she said bravely. "What I really want to ask you, have been wanting to ask you for ages now is… Look, am I doing as good a job as Rose did? I mean, I can't replace her, but I'm just not convinced that you and I… well, that we're really… getting on," she finished lamely. "I suppose what I'm asking is…" She squared her shoulders, lifting her chin bravely. "It boils down to this: do you like me as much as you liked her?"

The Doctor simply gazed at her, as if she'd asked him to spell his name for the fifth time.

"Jelly babies and ice-cream!" he cried cheerfully, looking back down abruptly at the parts he was attempting to cobble together.

"What does that mean?" she asked directly.

"I like jelly babies, _and_ I like ice-cream," he said, lifting the wires and biting one shorter. He sniffed and set them down again, running the screwdriver over the edges quickly. "For different reasons, for their different meanings, and just because… well – they're very different," he said to himself.

"So which one am I? A jelly baby or some ice-cream?" she smiled, relaxing.

"Definitely a jelly baby," he said to himself, lifting the jumble of parts and smiling at them proudly. "You don't go soft when it gets hot." He paused a second, during which she hid her grin. "Nice touch with the shoulders, by the way. Come on then, we have stuff to do," he said briskly, getting to his feet.

She jumped up quickly and he turned to look at her.

"Don't forget the bag," he said with a wicked grin, and she had time to look puzzled before turning behind her and picking it up. "Right then, _allons_-y," he sniffed, carrying the string of boxes and parts as he walked down to the TARDIS doors.

Martha hesitated, looking round and then crossing to the high chairs behind the Time Rotor. She picked up her purse sitting on the console and fished inside for her key. She pushed it into her jeans pocket and then turned and walked out, following the Doctor across the grass.

"So what's next?" she asked hurriedly.

He grinned, carrying his strange arrangement of parts.

"It's time to play. I need to find a substantial amount of alcohol, and you need to go and join the hunt," he said happily.

"Alcohol? Hunt?" she prompted. He stopped and looked at her.

"Trust me," he said with a large, manic grin, "I'm a doctor."


	8. Chapter 8

**EIGHT**

Martha slept for barely four hours after her midnight stint in the TARDIS. She still rose early, wondering just how they were about to pull this off.

She washed and dressed quickly in the clothes that had been left out for her. A knee length suede skirt with knee-high leather boots, a simple cream, long-sleeved tunic and a rather dashing dark red leather belt. She stopped to check her reflection in the mirror, smiling privately before turning and dashing out of the door.

She hurried out to the corridor and down to the end, whisking down the stairs as fast as her feet would carry her.

"Lady Martha!" came a loud voice. She looked over to find two aides watching her with large smiles.

"Oh, hi, morning," she said quickly, crossing the hall to meet them. "I didn't want to be late for the big hunt," she said breathlessly.

"We would have waited for you," the taller aide said politely. "If you would follow us, please."

They walked across the hall and out, into the large courtyard. Martha stopped and looked up as around ten to fifteen strong, brown drey horses were stood there, bridled but waiting. Young, blonde men stood holding the reins obediently. She forced herself not to look at them, keeping her eyes on the animals.

"Lovely specimens, aren't they?" came a voice from behind them.

She turned and found the Pak'tor dressed for the occasion; a long dark brown tunic flowed over her black riding trousers, tall leather boots laced to the knee, and her hair carefully plaited and tied safely out of the way. She smiled at Martha.

"Good morning, Lady Martha. I have to say, I'm a little surprised at your willingness to join us this morning. We are simply checking we have every last beast killed."

"Well, I thought… When in Cyleen, do as the Cyleenians do," she shrugged. "And to be honest, I've never been comfortable with those things roaming around," she added truthfully. "It would put my mind at rest, as it were."

"Ah," the Pak'tor smiled knowingly. She looked at the aides. "Well then. Shall we be off?"

-------------------------------------------------

The Doctor watched the dragon pin-wheel and circle high above his head, catching thermals and using them as only such a large graceful beast could. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun, watching her lose height, as if curious as to what he was.

"Oi! Missus!" he called up.

The dragon wheeled and swept down, eyeing him fondly.

"Come on, get down here!" he called.

The beast considered him for a long time, watching and thinking. She eventually deemed the collection of accoutrements at his feet to be harmless, and banked. She dipped and swept in, dropping herself fifty feet from the little man and ambling over.

She rumbled something low in her throat, reaching her head out and rubbing it down his arm gently.

He staggered from the force trying to push him over and looked at the eye socket, putting his hand out and rubbing under it gently.

"Steady on, love," he grinned, then patted at the scales. "Right. You and I both know there are things you should be doing right now. But _I_ know that if I let you go and do them, that lot will find you and you'll be tonight's barbecue," he said brightly. "So. You have to trust me for the next few hours, and then it'll all be over. Ok?"

The dragon drew her head back abruptly, sniffing him suspiciously. She raised her head high, eyeing him.

"Oh don't be like that," he sighed wearily. "Look, it's put up with my company for the morning and quite possibly the rest of the afternoon, or get harpooned and become someone's dining room wall-mount. What do you say?"

She snorted and rumbled aggressively.

"Now now," he said warningly, "That's precisely what got all of your species killed in the first place. Calm it. Now is not the time."

She lifted her head, considered this, and then brought it down to rub his arm again affectionately. He grinned.

"I will never get used to that," he said delightedly. "Now, look here, missus," he said more seriously, "I have this thing here," he said, bending and picking up the collection of metal boxes, strung together with wire and hope. "I put this round your foot, and we'll go completely unnoticed by anyone trying to find us, right?"

She snorted, putting her nose down and sniffing it. She rumbled something disapproving deep in her throat.

"What do you mean it's shoddy?" he demanded, hurt. "_I_ made it, young lady, and without the necessary tools, I might add." She lifted her head again and eyed him. "Anyway," he said hastily, "I brought a few things to make the day go more pleasurably," he grinned.

The dragon took a short step back, watching the weeny Gallifreyan lift the arrangement of boxes and attach it round her leg. She watched him pull out something small from his shirt and then a soft blue light and strange noises emanated from his hand for a few moments.

She deemed him finished in his ministrations and let her head down on her long neck, stroking her chin against the top of his head.

"Now, now," he said warningly, smiling despite himself. "Wait a minute, I'm not done."

She lifted her head clear as he stepped back and pulled out a small box from his shirt, lifting it and pointing it lazily toward the dragon. He squinted at it for a some moments, muttering to himself.

"This would be so much easier if I'd been able to save my glasses," he murmured, his eyes screwed up as he watched the readouts on the box. Eventually he nodded. "There," he said, well pleased, "all done."

The dragon looked around, then let out a long sigh and simply laid down on the harsh, sparsely grassed ground. She laid her head down and looked at him.

"Right then," he said happily, picking up the two bags from behind him and walking over. She shifted her leg back, out of his way, and he sat down next to her shoulder. He leaned back on her side, opening the first bag. "Might as well make a picnic out of it, eh?" he said winningly, and she suddenly exposed large, needle sharp teeth as she lifted her head and slewed it round to watch him.

He fished around in the bag and grinned, pulling out a large bottle.

"This one's yours," he said charmingly, pulling the cork out of the top and handing it out. She put her head down, sniffed it, and then simply grasped it in her teeth delicately. She up-ended the bottle and the entire contents went down in no more than two seconds.

"Oh," he said, his smile fading slightly. "Well then." He pulled out another, smaller bottle, checked the colour of the cork and then disposed of it, taking a huge mouthful.

It burned and he nearly spat it out in surprise. He managed to down the mouthful and looked at the dragon, who was shivering and rumbling.

"Don't you laugh at me, missus," he said petulantly. "I'm about three tonnes lighter than you."

The dragon lifted her nose and aimed it at the bag, nudging the flap slightly.

"Alright, alright," he protested, his voice firmly aiming for the high notes as he looked up at her with wide, amused eyes. "You alcoholic. Don't tell anyone I gave you this stuff." He withdrew another bottle, looked at it, then put it down again. "That's one for me. You want… this one," he said, pulling out the cork from the larger bottle and handing it to her.

She grasped it in her teeth politely, again necking it in double-quick time. She patiently waited for him to finish his bottle, over the course of several minutes, before she moaned something and waved the empty bottle within his reach. He took it and stood it next to the other empty one.

She watched him take out another bottle for them each, moaning something at him.

"Why?" he echoed innocently, opening the bottles and standing hers within her reach. "Well, what should be becoming obvious to you around now is that the stuff in your bottles is rather stronger than what's in mine," he said cheerfully. She groaned a query and let her head back to the scrubland. He leaned back on her side, lifting his bottle and sipping the liquid fire slowly.

"Because I have to make sure you're not going to change your mind and decide to try and toast everyone trying to find us, that's why," he said sadly. "I couldn't be sure you'd just agree to hide here with me."

She snorted and rumbled something, lifting her head from the ground slowly, turning it and lying it down next to his outstretched legs. She rolled her head to the side, rubbing his leg gently with the bone just under her eye socket.

He smiled warmly, reaching out and stroking the scales affectionately.

"Well I wasn't to know, was I?" he asked quietly. He looked up and around, taking a deep sniff of the air and nodding to himself. "Well then," he said, relaxing against her side, "looks like just you and me, eh?"

She rumbled and moaned, the sounds wheezing in and out of her nostrils surprisingly quietly.

"Yeah, I know," he said sadly. "It's all fun and games till someone reminds you that you're the only one left." He sighed and paused, looking at her again. "But not you, missus. No, not you. Not while there _is_ still one of my lot around."

She blinked her inner eye lids, rolling her head more into his leg and blowing out a sigh.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he said brightly, reaching for the bag again and pulling out the large white plastic _Morrisons_ shopping bag, grinning to himself. "So long as it's just you and me, we'd better crack open the jelly babies!"


	9. Chapter 9

**NINE**

Martha reined in her horse and waited as the Pak'tor lifted her telescope, looking out over the valley.

It was still strewn with hundreds of dragon corpses, and she smiled before letting the telescope down and looking at Martha.

"See? The wonders of female intuition," she said proudly. "I knew they'd have to have a water supply around here somewhere."

"You poisoned it?" Martha gasped.

"We did. Very effective, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh, yeah," she said, swallowing her anger. "Looks like you've got every one of those beasts."

"That's what we're here to find out," the Pak'tor replied suavely, nodding to her aides and sending runners down to begin a count.

-------------------------------------------------

"And _then_," the Doctor was saying, leaning up to open his fifth bottle, handing another one to the dragon, "we almost got shot! Us! Shot!" he cried indignantly. "Can you believe that?"

The dragon barely lifted her head off the ground but managed to get half the bottle down her gullet before it slipped and rolled onto the sparse grass, spilling out. The Doctor didn't even notice.

He collapsed back against the side of the great beast, shaking his head and taking another swig of the alcohol in the bottle.

"Jelly baby?" he offered, lifting the bag in his right hand. The dragon rolled her head to one side slightly and flicked out her long tongue, dipping it in and dragging out about six sweets, all stuck together.

She groaned and moaned, rumbling at him from somewhere deep inside.

"You sure?" he asked. "Well as long as I'm not boring you." He hiccupped, then sniffed to himself. "Oh dear," he added happily, completely unfazed. "You know, I heard that dragons are great singers. Are you?" he asked eagerly.

The dragon keened quietly, suddenly upset, and he put a hand out quickly to the side of her leg nearest him, stroking it softly.

"Now now," he said dismissively. "You will be again. Or don't you trust me?"

The dragon peeled back her lips to reveal her sharp, pointy teeth, a staccato huffing issuing from them. The Doctor laughed too, a rather evil version.

"Alright then – seeing as it's such a beautiful day," he said, lifting his bottle and looking up at the blue sky and burning sun. "This song's about… ooh, a thousand years in your future," he said thoughtfully, "well, not yours, but… anyway." He hiccupped again, almost choking as he tried to breathe and swallow at the same time. "What is this stuff?" he asked, poking his eye down the neck of the bottle in vain. He shook his head. "It's good, whatever it is," he grinned.

He watched the dragon lift her head slightly, and felt her ribs expand. It pushed him upright slowly, then let him down again as she let out a huge ball of ugly, noxious gases through her nose.

"Aw, come on!" he protested, waving at the air, "That's evil!"

She huffed in those short, sharp staccato bursts again, a tiny trilling sound accompanying her snuffling. He folded and laughed out loud before clearing his throat.

"Ok, ready?" he asked her. "And don't do that '_make him think I'm going to sing and then bottle it at the last minute_' thing, neither," he said, raising a finger and pointing it at her eye. She huffed and chuckled at him. "Naaa, see? I'm not a complete idiot," he accused her.

She lifted her head over and rubbed his bent knee with her eye socket. He reached out and patted her nose affectionately.

"Right then – '_Here Comes The Sun_'," he said, nodding decisively. He raised the bottle and took a drink, then paused and looked at her. "No, tell you what," he grinned, "it should be '_Here Comes The Rum_'!"

She chuckled and rumbled her agreement, and he fell about laughing.

-------------------------------------------------

Martha gratefully handed over the reins and blew out a sigh, turning to look over at the other riders. They were still all seated, having ridden for a good few hours side-saddle, and didn't appear to have noticed.

Martha had aches in muscles of which she knew the names but had never seen, and it was all she could do to stand and not quiver with fatigue.

"Hmm," the Pak'tor said loudly, letting the long telescope down and turning to her aide. "Still nothing. Have they counted the bodies at the valley?"

"They have, your majesty," the aide replied, and Martha sidled up to listen. "They report nearly four hundred dead, your majesty," she said cheerfully.

"Four hundred…" Martha murmured, then caught herself and looked up at the others. "Is that all of them?" she asked.

"It would appear so," the Pak'tor said slowly, but she bit her lip. "I don't know… something tells me…"

She raised the telescope again and swept it around. Martha walked up to the cliff edge they had stopped on, looking out over the view and nearly choked.

There, slap-bang in the middle of the valley, was a huge beast, lying in a semi-circle around a much smaller, black figure. She felt her throat go dry and coughed suddenly.

"Lady Martha?" an aide said quickly. She waved her away, still coughing politely.

"I'm sorry," she croaked, as the Pak'tor gestured to the aide. The smaller woman slid from her horse and plucked the water flask from her saddle bag, hurrying to Martha with it. "Just the dust from riding, I think," she managed. She took the flask and nodded her thanks, taking a good few sips of water slowly.

"You do not seem to be used to these animals," the Pak'tor said curiously.

"No – my sister can ride, I never learned," she said, then bit her lip.

"You have a sister?" the Pak'tor grinned. "Then you must send for her, ask her to attend us here."

"Well, she's kind of… busy," she said guiltily. "She's got a job, and –"

"Your sister works? For your lands?" she asked politely.

"Kinda," she managed, sipping more water.

"Oh! I see!" the Pak'tor gushed suddenly. "You are sister to the ruler! Oh, how splendid!" she cried happily. "Then you must accept gifts to take back to her!"

"Oh, well, you needn't go to all the trouble –"

"Oh pish, I insist," she interrupted. "You cannot return empty-handed from my land, it would be most discourteous," she said.

"Oh well, er… thank you," Martha said graciously.

She watched the Pak'tor turn and look out over the cliff edge again. She held her breath, waiting for the inevitable shout and call to arms as she spotted the dragon and the alien sitting in plain sight under the hot sun.

But there was nothing. No shouting, no pointing, no excitement. The Pak'tor simply sighed and handed the telescope to an aide, turning her horse swiftly and looking back over her shoulder at Martha.

"You require rest before you return?" she asked curiously.

"Yes, Pak'tor," she said gratefully. "I'm just not used to riding," she added apologetically. "To be honest, I've never been so tired!"

"Then that man-servant of yours is not as handy as it first appears," the Pak'tor smiled. Martha bit her lip against her answer. "Very well. I shall leave you an aide, to help you find –"

"That's extremely kind of you, Pak'tor," she said cheerfully, "but I wouldn't want to hold you up. And I may sleep for a bit under this sun."

"I could not leave you out here all alone," she said dismissively. "You may take one of my man-servants. It's fit and strong, it will protect you."

"Ah, but with all those beasts gone, surely we're safe out here?" Martha smiled.

"True. However, it would be rude of me to leave the sister of another lands' ruler out in the elements by herself. No, you must accept my man-servant," she said firmly.

"Very kind of you, Pak'tor," Martha said, hiding her unease. "You're very thoughtful."

"You're very welcome," she said, inclining her head before snapping orders at the man next to her. He immediately walked to Martha's side, watching her warily. Martha looked him up and down and then tried a smile. He looked at his feet quickly.

"Have a good rest," the Pak'tor smiled, completely amused, before urging her horse on.

Martha watched the conflagration disappear into the distance slowly. Then she turned to the servant, who was wearing the same clothes as the Doctor.

"Well then," she said gingerly. He nodded and kept his gaze on his boots. "Do you have a name?" she asked.

He didn't dare look up, but she noticed he jumped slightly.

"Yes, my lady," he mumbled. She sighed.

"Right, look here," she said sternly. "I'm not 'your lady', I'm not _any_one's lady. I'm Martha. Just Martha. Tell me your name."

"Manny," he said slowly.

"Manny, look at me," she said slowly. He raised his head gradually, finding her watching him. He stared at her, transfixed. "Right. Now we have to get down the side of this cliff and get over there," she said, lifting her hand and pointing out at the Doctor and the dragon.

"May I… May I ask why?" he stammered.

"You may. And because my friend's out there," she said, "Look."

He turned and looked out blankly. She watched his gaze sweep over the valley.

"You can't see them either?" she asked. "Those boxes of his must have worked."

"My lady?" he asked, confused, turning back to look at her.

"Oh, never mind," she said. "Come on, tell me a way to get down this cliff without braining myself."


	10. Chapter 10

**TEN**

Martha heard the snuffling, burping and singing as she and Manny made their way across the hot valley bed.

"Doctor!" she called, shielding her eyes from the sun as they approached.

"Martha!" he called back, sounding relieved. He got to his feet and dropped his bottle, leaning an arm against the thick green hide of the dragon and jumping repeatedly to look over the top of her back.

"How did no-one else see you?" she demanded incredulously, walking round the dragon and stopping with her hands on her hips.

The dragon mewled cheekily and lifted her head, rubbing Martha's arm. She staggered with the unexpected force, stretching her hand out and patting it awkwardly.

The Doctor leaned off the dragon unsteadily and whirled around to find Martha behind him.

"My little boxes!" the Doctor cried ebulliently, and she looked at him. Just looked. He didn't appear to notice. "Manny! Hello!" he gushed.

Manny was standing behind Martha, his mouth open, staring blankly at the dragon.

"You?" Manny managed. He was still staring at the dragon, but something was making his mouth work coherently. "We thought… We thought you were with Lady Ermin!"

"What?" the Doctor scoffed, and Martha waved her free hand past her face at the collective alcohol fumes hanging in a noxious cloud around the Gallifreyan and the dragon. "And miss all this excitement?"

"Mate, you smell like a brewery," she tutted. "What have you been drinking?"

"Well they call it rum, but it's like no rum _I've_ ever tasted – and I've tried a lot of rum," he said conspiratorially, tossing her a huge, over-done wink. She blinked.

"Doctor, how much have you drunk?" she dared.

"Not enough," he said confidently, leaning down and picking up another bottle. He tossed it at Manny. "There you go son, make yourself at home."

Manny caught the bottle awkwardly, but his eyes were still on the dragon.

"You two – you two really are _friends_, aren't you?" he managed, distracted. "How can a man be friends with a woman?"

"The eternal question," the Doctor hiccupped, dropping back to the ground soundly, leaning back against the dragon and looking extremely comfortable.

"Right, well," Martha said, walking over and taking the bottle that had mysteriously materialised in the Gallifreyan's hand.

"Oi!" he grumped.

She took a sip, half-choked, and then took a big mouthful. She handed it back to him.

"You," she said sternly. "Don't even bother to explain the boxes. Or the invisible thing. Or the rum," she tutted. "What do we do with this bloody great dragon?"

The beast grunted and she looked at it quickly.

"No offence," she said hastily. The dragon snorted a great bellow across the ground, and Manny jumped, skittering backwards.

"It's going to eat me!" he squeaked fearfully.

"No she's not," the Doctor interrupted petulantly. "Why is it the first thing people say when they see a dragon is '_oh no it's going to eat me_'?" he demanded grumpily.

"Dragons don't eat people," Martha said kindly to Manny, who just looked back at her.

"You sure, my lady?" he swallowed.

"Tell him," Martha said, folding her arms and looking back at the Doctor. He grinned.

"No, she is not going to eat you," he said clearly.

"Cos you told her not to?" Manny dared.

"Don't be daft," the Doctor said, fishing his hand into the _Morrisons_ carrier bag. "Cos we've been eating these all afternoon," he added brightly, lifting his hand out and popping a jelly baby into his mouth.

"Oh good god," Martha moaned, putting her face in her hands. "Doctor, you know how you get when you eat too many jelly babies."

He hiccupped and then sniffed to himself.

"Well it was that or die of boredom out here. Couldn't very well save the last dragon and then let her die of boredom, could I?"

Manny jumped as the dragon lifted her head slowly, swinging it closer to him. She sniffed him suspiciously.

"It's alright," the Doctor called out, "he's with me."

The dragon slewed her head back away from the smaller man, then over toward the Doctor again. She laid her head down on the dusty grass and let out a long, contented sigh.

Then she belched, and Martha jumped and moved away from her quickly.

"What do we do now?" she asked.

"Get my suit back. I don't much care for these things," the Doctor said, plucking at the fabric of his cotton shirt. He stood slowly, wobbling only slightly. "Oh. Ah. And find a washroom."

Martha gaped.

"You've been sat here since I left you this morning, drinking rum and eating jelly babies, and you haven't even got up to go to the loo?" she demanded.

"Been busy," he said defensively.

"How the hell did you drink five – no, _seven_ bottles," she amended, eyeing the litter on the ground, "of that stuff and not need the toilet?"

"Time Lord science," he said cheerfully. "_Well_, biology, to be precise."

"Do I want to know?" she dared.

"Bigger on the inside," he hiccupped innocently, and she slapped her hands over her face.

"Like I didn't know _that_ was coming," she muttered. She pulled her hands away and looked at Manny. "Well. This is the moment we say goodbye and disappear," she said politely. "Do you want dropping anywhere?"

"Dropping?" he prompted, lost.

"Is there anywhere you want to go?" the Doctor said clearly. Manny shook his head.

"I think… I think I need to go home now," he said bravely. "I've seen men who aren't servants, and dragons drinking rum. I need to go home." He stared at the three of them, oblivious.

"Yep," the Doctor said, then sat back down. "You get off home, Martha here will go back to the palace and get my suit, and me and her will sleep off the alcohol," he added happily, chucking a thumb over his shoulder at the sleeping creature.

"I will not!" Martha said indignantly. The Doctor looked up at her, surprised.

"Well are you going to dragon-sit while _I_ go back and get it?" he asked innocently.

"Actually," she said slowly, "I think you should sit here and sleep it off. If in fact that's what Gallifreyans do," she added doubtfully. "I'll get Manny back, and then go for your stuff. Don't move," she said sternly, pointing at him.

"Yes mistress," he said cheekily.

-------------------------------------------------

"There, you see?" he grinned, watching the huge beast circle and find a direction. "There should _always_ be a dragon in the sky. Somewhere."

"I don't get it," she said, her arm through his comfortably. "We went through all that, saved the very last one, and now you're just letting it fly away with no idea of what's going to happen to it or how it's going to survive?"

"Martha Jones!" he protested, not taking his eyes from the sight of the dark green creature wing its way over the hillside. "You offend me. Of _course_ I know what's going to happen to her next."

"What?" she asked, suddenly afraid. He looked down at her now, the dragon well and truly gone.

"She's going back to the nesting grounds. The ones on the _other_ side of the continent," he grinned. "Why do you think she only got doctored rum?"

"Mate," she said uncertainly.

"Couldn't risk giving her anything else, not with close to two dozen eggs waiting for her to get back to and watch over."

"Doctor!" she cried angrily, pulling her hand away and slapping him in the chest.

"Ow! What now!" he protested.

"You let me believe she was the last one! The last one!" she cried, slapping at him repeatedly with both hands. He staggered back, lifting his hands to protect himself.

"Martha!" he accused, and she stopped, putting her hands on her hips and staring at him. He affected his best puppy-dog eyes until he suddenly grinned like a small schoolboy, his head tilting to one side inanely.

They burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all.

"Come on," he said at last, controlling himself. He put his hands in his pockets and turning to look across the hills, spotting the side of the TARDIS sticking out like a sore thumb from the side of the greenery. "Time we were off."

She turned and stopped him, putting her arm through his again as they walked.

"Did you mean that?" she asked. "When you said there should always be a dragon in the sky?"

"Of course," he nodded cheerfully. "Like _Star Trek_."

"What?"

"You _need_ dragons, whether you believe in them or not. _Especially_ if you don't," he said.

"You're not making sense."

"Alright," he sighed, thinking. "It's like… It's like when you're watching cable TV, and on some channel somewhere there's always an episode of _Star Trek_ on. Right?"

"Right," she grinned.

"You don't need to see it to know it's there. But it's comforting to know it _is_ there. Dragons are like _Star Trek_ episodes," he said simply.

"How?" she marvelled, grinning.

"Well… Everyone knows about them, and yet if you ask them, they'll never admit to having seen one. If you believe in them you're a geek, if you don't, you're mainstream. But they do a much wider, more important job than simply being an episode or a creature," he rattled off.

"And that is?" she asked.

"_Well_, I could explain the existential connections underpinning complex and ancient belief systems in all kinds of humanoid cultures in a thousand different star systems, but I think the cosmological and anthropomorphic nature of the ramifications of just how widely these belief systems spread and how they're actually propagated would bore you," he grinned helpfully.

She rolled her eyes and pulled him on.

"Come on then," she said gratefully, "let's work out where to go next."

**THE END**


End file.
